An Exclamation Point
by DragonBlood-Katana
Summary: Bokuto Koutarou was an exclamation point. Akaashi's father was a period. The thing was, Akaashi always heard the truth in his father's words, but never in Bokuto's.


Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi had decided, was an exclamation point. He was loud, boisterous, even obnoxious to an extent, but Akaashi didn't mind. He had minded, once, but Bokuto had grown on him like mold grows on cheese or like crystals grow on rocks. Bokuto was the good kind of loud; he was the loudness of a child's birthday party, or of a team winning nationals, or of a woman's shrieked _yes_ as her long-time boyfriend finally proposed. Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi knew, was kind and cared too much and could be gentle—oh so gentle—when the situation called for it.

Akaashi's father, Akaashi had decided, was a period. He indicated a complete stop, leaving a horrible sort of static in his wake that determined the mood of the next sentence. Akaashi's father was loud, too, but it was a different kind of loud than Bokuto's by far. Akaashi's father was loud in an angry, demanding, more-often-than-not drunk way; the loudness of the thunderstorms that had terrified Akaashi as a child, the loudness of a beer bottle shattering against a wall or of a door slammed shut so hard that its half-rusted hinges nearly gave in to their age.

Bokuto Koutarou made Akaashi's school life warm, fun, and safe.

Akaashi's father made Akaashi's home life cold, broken, and lonely.

It balanced itself out, Akaashi supposed. One night, Akaashi's father would grab Akaashi by his hair and slam the back of the boy's head against the wall; the next day Bokuto would pat Akaashi encouragingly on the head with a gentle hand against the part of his scalp that still stung. One night, Akaashi's father would call his son a useless piece of shit and treat him accordingly. The next day Bokuto would call Akaashi amazing and treat him like a prince.

The thing was, Akaashi always heard the truth in his father's words but never in Bokuto's.

Akaashi was careful, though. Careful to keep his grades at the highest the grading system would allow, no matter how unhealthy it was to do so. Careful to apply plenty of foundation—acquired from the box of things his mother had left behind when she had disappeared just before Akaashi's tenth birthday—to every bruise every morning and blend it seamlessly so that no one noticed and no one got suspicious. Careful to keep his face emotionless, reactionless, painless whenever something—usually a part of Bokuto, like a knee or an elbow—slammed into one of said bruises.

Careful, oh so careful, to make sure that Bokuto would never, _ever_ , find out about what went on during the smallest hours of the day.

If Bokuto ever found out, Akaashi knew, he would turn his back on Akaashi and never look back. That would almost certainly beak Akaashi for good. Akaashi had never really had many friends, at least not any his age; he was too quiet, too mature, too stoic, too aloof, too closed-off. Somehow, though, Bokuto—sweet, precious, jubilant Bokuto—had laughed and grinned and high-fived his way into Akashi's life and become the only person that Akaashi considered a true friend. Bokuto was more precious, more cherished, that anything and anyone else to Akaashi, and losing that would quite possibly destroy the setter for once and for all.

So Akaashi kept himself carefully as in line as physically possible, to make sure that he couldn't lose Bokuto. He met curfew almost religiously, he never went out with the team, and he never accepted Bokuto's offer to sleep over or to study together, no matter how many times Akaashi was told that he was always welcome at Bokuto's house. He tried to keep his father relatively happy, tried to hide the bruises, tried to be perfect, but there were still shadows that haunted him in the depths of his long, sleepless nights. Those shadows scared Akaashi to the point of bringing him to tears nearly every night.

Those shadows lived in his mind, whispering things to him as he tried—God, he tried, but it never really worked—to go to sleep. _Why do you put up with it?_ They asked. _What did you do to deserve to live, especially like this? Why don't you just end it? It'll be easier. No one would miss you, anyway._ They hissed. About then was usually when Akaashi would start to cry in silent, devastating sobs that shook his entire body. He always ended up pressing his hands over his ears, trying and failing to block out those damned shadows. He couldn't, though; not when those shadows were his own thoughts whispering to him in his own voice. He never broke in public, though, no matter how much he wanted to. Akaashi was a master at keeping anything under lock and key until he was alone.

It didn't help any. Crying could only do so much for Akaashi after it had been his only outlet for his emotions for nearly seven years. He had tried self-harm, once, but he felt sick moments afterward and had never tried it again. It wasn't worth the collateral damage. He knew he needed to vent to _someone_ soon, but he also knew that that most likely wasn't a realistic option. His father would never allow him to go to a therapist and telling someone at school was out of the question. He didn't even come close to trusting any of the staff that much, and a student would run from Akaashi and his demons in a heartbeat. He would lose everything he had worked so hard for so long to get. So, for then, he kept silent.

It was a test that finally broke him. He hadn't studied—it had been one of the few nights that he had been able to fall asleep, and sleep was too rare for him to give up for the sake of studying, at that point—and Akaashi had failed the test with a whopping thirty-two percent. It felt like his world had collapsed, leaving him dreading every future moment and feeling like self-confidence was a thing of a distant past. To be honest, it was, but it was just worse than usual right then.

Carefully, always carefully, Akaashi laid the paper facedown on the table and allowed himself to run his hands once through his hair in frustration. Then he forced himself to put the test away, sign up for the retest, and leave the class, all the while acting like he was completely fine.

He wasn't. He felt like crying and screaming and completely breaking down right there in the middle of the hallway. He didn't. He felt sick with dread and guilt all throughout the rest of the day. At lunch, Bokuto tried to convince Akaashi to eat something. He tried, he really did; he was always trying. He couldn't. He didn't want to throw it all up minutes after eating. Bokuto tried to get Akaashi to tell him was going on. He wouldn't. It was Akaashi's burden—Akaashi's failure—after all. Not Bokuto's.

That evening felt like something straight out of a nightmare. The entire day had been, really, but his father's reaction had had been far worse than Akaashi had expected. It took nearly an hour for Akaashi to finally escape to behind his locked bedroom door. By then, he had tears beading in his eyes, a bruise forming along his spine, and a throbbing red mark from where his father had slapped him. Akaashi didn't realize he was shaking until his knees gave in and he collapsed to the floor. The tears began to fall; Akaashi pressed a hand to his mouth to muffle his sobs.

Akaashi lay curled on the floor for nearly half an hour before his tears finally dried out. He was still shaking. His cheeks and eyes felt puffy from crying and he knew his face was covered in ugly red splotches. Akaashi was not a pretty crier. Slowly, Akaashi stood on shaking legs and snuck into the bathroom, letting out a soft, relieved sigh when he wasn't caught. Akaashi ran a washcloth under cold water, then dabbed at his face with it until the splotches had mostly faded. When he looked back up at the mirror, Akaashi felt his gut twist in disgust and dismay. His cheek had already started to swell and bruise where he had been hit; it would be nearly impossible to cover it up the next day.

 _I can't do this anymore,_ Akaashi thought, his hands clenching slight on the edge of the countertop. _I can't._

The thing was, Akashi couldn't see a way out. He didn't have any other family that would take him in, and he couldn't think of anyone else that he trusted enough to live with for any extended period of time.

Akaashi was back in his room and dialing the number from heart before he had made the conscious decision to do so. There was technically one person that he trusted. Even so, Akaashi started to doubt himself the moment the dial tone began to buzz in his ear. What if he was asleep? What if he hadn't meant it? What if—?

 _"Hello?"_ Bokuto's voice brought Akaashi's downward spiral of self-doubt to a pause; Akaashi was certain that it would continue later.

"Bokuto-san. I apologize for calling so late at night." Akaashi could hear his voice tremble with the memory of his tears and he hated it.

 _"Akaashi, what's wrong? You sound upset."_ Bokuto's voice was softer and gentler than most people, Akaashi included, usually thought possible of the boisterous ace.

"I'm fine, Bokuto-san. I… Did you mean it when you said I could stay over at your house anytime I need—wanted to?" Akaashi despised how unsure of himself he sounded. Luckily, Bokuto either didn't notice or he had enough tact not to point it out.

 _"Of course! Why do you ask?"_

"I was… I'd like to take you up on that offer, if that's alright." Akaashi was glad that his voice was more stable that time.

Bokuto practically crowed in happiness. _"Yes! When do you want to come over?"_

 _Fuck it,_ Akaashi decided. _I'm already in too deep, so I might as well keep going._ "…Is now okay?"

The silence on the other end of the line lasted just long enough for Akaashi to consider backtracking. _"Sure! Do you want me to pick you up?"_

For the first time all day, Akashi smiled and meant it. "No, Bokuto-san, I'll be fine on my own. I appreciate the offer, though."

 _"Of course! See you soon, then!"_

Akaashi nodded even though Bokuto couldn't see him and hung up. Briefly, he wondered if he should make an attempt to hide the bruises, then forced himself to stop thinking about it. He needed to stop being so paranoid and take the chance that _someone_ —namely Bokuto—would be willing to do something to help him. _I have to trust him,_ Akaashi told himself firmly. _He won't hurt me. I know he won't. He'd never do something like that._

He packed a duffle bag as quietly as he could with clothes, then slung it over his shoulder with his backpack. Akaashi opened his window—it was a little difficult at first, since he so rarely used it, and dropped to the ground. Thankfully his bedroom was on the first floor, so he didn't break an ankle or something.

Akaashi stood outside for a good ten minutes, scrolling through his and Bokuto's old text conversations to find where Bokuto had given Akaashi his address. He found it eventually, relieved that it was within easy walking distance. Taking the bus at that time of night was neither safe nor a good idea under any circumstances. Walking wasn't that much better, but at least Akaashi could outrun anyone who tried something; he couldn't do that in the confined space of a bus.

It took Akaashi almost half an hour to get to Bokuto's house. By then, he was certain that his cheek had developed into a fully-fledged bruise, but he hoped that his situation would be easier to explain if Bokuto asked questions so he didn't make any attempt to cover it up. His hands shook as he knocked; he crossed his arms and hid his hands behind his elbows to make them stop. After a moment footsteps thundered from inside the house and skidded to a halt behind the door. The lock clicked and the door swung open. Bokuto was grinning at first, but his smile fell the moment he saw Akaashi. Akaashi lowered his eyes, knowing what came next.

Gentle fingers against his bruised cheek drew Akaashi's gaze back up. Bokuto's eyes were a soft molten shade of amber that Akaashi knew he could easily lose himself in if he wasn't careful. "Who did this, Akaashi?"

Akaashi opened his mouth to explain, but the words got stuck in his throat. He tried to force them out but something was stopping them. It was only two words, damn it, and he couldn't _say them._

"Can I come in?" Was what came out of his mouth instead.

Bokuto nodded and stepped back, letting Akaashi in. Akaashi didn't object when Bokuto took him by the hand and lead him up the stairs. There was a pair of voices murmuring in the kitchen, presumably Bokuto's parents, but Bokuto didn't stop and Akaashi was fine with that. They went straight up to Bokuto's bedroom, the door clicking shut quietly behind them. Akaashi took his time setting his things down and settling himself on the edge of Bokuto's bed. He knew what the next conversation was going to be, and as much as he wanted— _needed_ —to have it, he was terrified. He had kept everything a secret for so long that he was terrified to what came next. He didn't like the fact that he didn't know how Bokuto would respond. Would he react like he so often did in Akaashi's nightmares and scream and yell like Akaashi's father? Would he understand? Would he—?

Again, Bokuto's voice put a pause on the downward emotional spiral. Of course, it was with the question that had started Akaashi's mental breakdown, but it distracted him. "Akaashi, can you tell me who hit you?"

Akaashi blurted the answer before he could overthink things and keep himself from saying anything again. "My father."

Bokuto blinked. Akaashi didn't move. He felt like he couldn't even breathe. Bokuto was just _staring_ and _staring_ and _staring_ and it was starting to unnerve Akaashi. _Maybe this was a bad idea,_ Akaashi thought in his panic. _Maybe I shouldn't have said anything._

Suddenly, Akaashi was warm. He stiffened, expecting the physical contact to turn painful, but it never did. Bokuto had wrapped his arms around Akaashi and he didn't seem to be planning on letting go anytime in the near future. It took a moment, but Akaashi slowly relaxed into the embrace, letting himself enjoy it. It was nice to feel safe, Akaashi mused.

"I'll kill him," Bokuto said softly as his arms tightened protectively around Akaashi. "If I ever meet him, I'll kill him for hurting you."

"And then you'll be arrested and imprisoned for the rest of your life. It isn't worth it, Bokuto-san." Akaashi sighed a little; even in situations like that he ended up being Bokuto's voice of reason.

"It'd be totally worth it, though. He doesn't deserve to live if he's been hurting you."

Akaashi laughed humourlessly. "Then you would think he would have been struck down years ago, wouldn't you?"

Bokuto let out a breathy little noise that wasn't quite a gasp and wasn't quite a sigh. "Years, Akaashi? This has been going on for _years_ and I haven't noticed? _Nobody_ has noticed?"

Akaashi shrugged noncommittally, his eyes sliding shut. Bokuto's body heat was starting to lull him to sleep. "I did my best to try to hide it. I didn't _want_ you to notice."

Bokuto shook his head and sighed. "Then why did you—? Never mind. You need to sleep, okay Akaashi? We can talk more in the morning."

Bokuto's voice was so gentle and he was so warm and Akaashi felt so safe that he couldn't do anything but nod in mute, mindless agreement. Bokuto laughed throatily, though the sound was still soft, and shifted so that Akaashi was lying on the bed. It was just as warm as Bokuto.

Bokuto moved to stand up and Akaashi reached out and grabbed the ace's wrist before he really knew that he was doing. Bokuto gave him a curious look; Akaashi said the first thing that came to mind since common sense seemed to be out of the picture at the moment.

"Stay with me?"

Bokuto seemed surprised but he composed himself after a moment, a grin spreading slowly across his face. He nodded, giggling a little, and sprawled on his side beside Akaashi. Akaashi didn't stop to think; he knew he would lose any and all confidence if he did. He scooted forward and pressed himself against Bokuto, tucking his head neatly beneath the ace's chin. Again, Akaashi's actions seemed to surprise Bokuto, but he adjusted quickly and wrapped his arms around the setter.

Akaashi knew that he would be nervous and embarrassed in the morning and that the morning would bring a whole lot of questions Akaashi had never expected to be able to answer, but curled against Bokuto in that moment, he had never felt safer.


End file.
